A pall of silence clung to the forest after the brutal exchanges. Leaves crunched underfoot as everyone shifted positions, each fighter more ragged and battle-worn than before. And yet, a piercing resolve flickered in their eyes as they stared at Professor Willow, who stood tall—smoke still curling from his charred armor. He tilted his head, regarding them with a strange mix of amusement and respect.
“You should all be proud of yourselves for pushing me this far,” Willow said, his voice echoing through the clearing. A slow grin tugged at his scorched lips. “No matter the outcome, you have more than proved your worth. Your acceptance is guaranteed, so don’t feel too bad when you lose.”
With that, he summoned the ghostly trumpet once more. The moment it appeared in his grasp, an eerie hush seized the forest, as if every living creature held its breath. Willow lifted the trumpet to his lips, and without warning, a pulse of oppressive energy billowed out. The clearing resonated with dissonant, inaudible notes. Their ears throbbed under the pressure, some even feeling fresh trickles of blood from their eardrums.
“I prefer to summon these two together,” Willow continued, his words lilting with a twisted sort of pleasure. “They both buff me beautifully. Awaken—War and Conquest.”
A tremor shot down Isaac’s spine. He alone could see the ghastly figures coalescing behind Willow. The first—a towering, skeletal abomination, wore a once-white cloak, now saturated with fresh gore and blood. Its head was encased by a horned helm, and two curved horns protruded from its design, resembling a demonic crown. A tattered flag perched in its massive, bony hand, snapping ominously in an unfelt breeze. The stench of decay clung to its rib cage, riddled with rotting tissue. With an impassive, almost casual gesture, Willow bent down and tore a heart free from the creature’s leaky torso. As the heart fell into his waiting hand, it flickered into the group’s shared reality, and everyone felt a surge of malice as Willow bit into it. A horrifying burst of power radiated from him, stifling and inexorable.
To Willow’s left, another nightmare emerged—a skeletal figure draped in a cloak riddled with arrow holes, revealing a grotesquely throbbing heart in its open rib cage. Its head was missing entirely, leaving a ragged stump. Multiple limbs extended from its sides, each clutching a different wind instrument. It struggled to blow into them, it had no head to play its instruments. These two specters—the first, seething with martial fury, and the second, pulsing with weird, rhythmic energy—circled Willow like demonic satellites.
Willow’s lips curved into a languid smile, relishing the mingled horror and disbelief in the students’ eyes. “Since I’m feeling generous,” he said, voice laced with sinister glee, “I’ll explain. War’s ability cuts my mana cost and stamina usage in half, whether for my ability or physical attacks. That means I can use my most devastating techniques without much strain. As for Conquest, I love this one. Whenever you speak, he’ll siphon the sound, using it to ‘charge’ those instruments. Once he starts playing for real, I get a massive, albeit temporary, boost in every aspect—enough to end this fight decisively. So, choose your words very carefully.”
A weighted hush followed, charged with fear and determination. Some students instinctively bit their tongues, while others glared defiantly, hearts pounding. Overhead, branches swayed and rattled in a gathering wind, as though the forest itself braced for the next onslaught. Famine’s remnants still lingered, a faint, rotten stench on the breeze, but these new summons exuded an even stronger aura of doom.
Willow spun his bone spear with casual grace. “I suggest you come at me with everything you have left. Otherwise, this will be over very, very quickly.”
Against the dim green backdrop of the forest, the assembled students exchanged tense looks. Blood trickled from open wounds; curses still sapped their strength. Yet in their eyes flickered something akin to defiance—and perhaps a shred of hope. The moment hung on a knife’s edge as they steeled themselves for the Sentinel’s next move, fully aware that a single misplaced word could tip the scales in Willow’s favor.
A streak of crimson flared across Isaac’s arm as he summoned a small stream of blood, the shining droplets forming intricate patterns in the air. With practiced precision, he tapped out a series of subtle pulses—morse code—directed toward Karma. It was a cunning communication method devised by the Mad Emperor Sirius Blackwood, whose decryption methods had made information leaks during the war nearly impossible. Rumor had it that even his private diaries and coded texts remained unsolved, written in a cryptic language he once drunkenly referred to as “Russian.”
The instructions Isaac sent were concise but critical:
<ol>
<li style="font-weight: 400">Only use your Stockpile ability on Willow.</li>
<li style="font-weight: 400">If Lyra prepares another major attack, pour every ounce of stored power into her strike—even reserves from before this exam.</li>
<li style="font-weight: 400">No matter how bad things get, I won’t ask you to remove your mask.</li>
</ol>
As soon as he finished tapping out the code, Isaac lunged back into the fray. A dark glimmer shone in his eyes—he intended to test something. He’d noticed that Willow’s new summon, Conquest, did not siphon off Willow’s own voice. Gripping the opportunity, Isaac called upon his ability to modify his own physiology.
It was an unsettling transformation. His infinite blood—normally used for offensive techniques, healing, or summoning ghouls—could also be harnessed for far more intricate modifications. Over time, Isaac had discovered he could reconstruct his organs, realign tissues, and circulate mana-rich blood directly to his brain to stave off exhaustion. The strain on his body was immense, but it was a price he willingly paid to avoid succumbing to nightmares.
Now, he put that mastery to use by reshaping his vocal cords to mimic Willow’s tone and pitch perfectly. His chest expanded as he inhaled, then exhaled in a voice indistinguishable from that of the imposing Sentinel.
“High-Class Demon, Terror Drake, I’d like to form a contract,” Isaac declared, every nuance of Willow’s deeper inflection captured in his own. As he’d hoped, Conquest did not react; the skeletal figure only absorbed the sound not produced Willow himself, this included those who sounded exactly like him.
A deep rumble surged from Isaac’s blood-etched magic circle. Flames licked across the runic patterns on the ground before bursting outward, revealing a large, twin-headed draconic beast cloaked in dark scales and flickering purple fire. Tattered wings flared out from its back, showering the clearing with sparks. The Terror Drake glared at Isaac with murderous interest.
Isaac seized the fleeting moment to strike a deal. “If you survive this ordeal and allow me to graft you to my body,” he said in that eerily accurate Willow-voice, “I’ll give you a chance to escape Gehenna. I’ve been authorized to make these arrangements.”
The drake hesitated only briefly, its malevolent eyes glimmering with possibility. Then it roared—an ear-splitting, demonic cry that echoed through the forest. Almost instantly, flames whooshed around Isaac, and the Terror Drake fused with his body, forging a bizarre symbiosis. Black wings, wreathed in purple fire, burst from Isaac’s back, and his arms and legs sprouted glossy, onyx-hued scales. Sharp claws tipped his newly draconic limbs, a partial manifestation of his own inherited dragon traits.
Struggling to steady himself under the fresh wave of scorching power, Isaac braced his clawed feet against the soft, damp earth. Though it strained him to attempt a full set of wings on his own, the drake’s partial fusion granted him a way around that limitation.
Isaac exhaled, bracing himself. The subtle rasp in his throat was the only sign of the curse already gnawing at his lungs. “I’ve mimicked Willow’s voice,” he said, forcing calm into his tone. His eyes flickered over each ally, lingering on Lyra and June. “Listen carefully. I need all of you to trust me.”
He pointed at Lyra first. “You and June stay back—both of you are vital to this plan. June, if Willow curses me, ignore it and focus on healing the others. I can handle it.”
Lyra nodded, uncertainty in her gaze but determination in her posture. June stood beside her, phoenix flames shimmering faintly around her hands, ready to purge curses or mend wounds.
Isaac’s gaze slid to Markus. “Use your Compass and ice to throw off Willow’s strikes and pin him if you can. Even a slight shift in his spear trajectory could save a life.”
Markus’s eyes flashed with resolve as he flexed his frost-covered fingers, mentally preparing to freeze the Sentinel’s movements.
“Mars,” Isaac continued, “if you’re running low on souls for your weapons, hit up Karma. He can summon spirits, and if your conjured weapons break, they’ll just return to the Spirit Realm. No risk of losing resources.”
Mars gave a curt grunt, adjusting the soul-crafted blade in his grip, eyes flicking to Karma in acknowledgment.
Finally, Isaac turned to his masked friend lurking at the fringes. “Karma, aside from the instructions I sent earlier, do as you please.” A small, confident smile ghosted across Isaac’s lips, despite the black lines of pain creeping up his neck.
“Impressive.” Willow’s voice sliced through the air, carrying a note of genuine curiosity. “To adapt so quickly to my attempt at disabling your teamwork… You’re the pest I need to eliminate first.”
Without further warning, he charged, spear in hand. Its tip glistened with Famine’s malevolent sludge, swirling with unholy energy. Isaac stepped forward, raising his scaled arms to parry. The spearhead drove against his forearm—Karma’s Stockpile mitigating enough force to spare Isaac from losing the limb, but not from the curse. The black sludge invaded his flesh, and agony ripped through him. Lines of inky darkness streaked across Isaac’s skin like fracturing glass.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
He clenched his jaw, biting down on his lip until fresh blood spilled. His breathing grew labored, but he refused to relent. Summoning purple flames, courtesy of the Terror Drake’s power, Isaac met Willow blow for blow. When Willow’s spear came too close, Isaac vanished into shadowy dips in the terrain, reappearing behind him with vengeful strikes of blazing fists.
Encouraged by Isaac’s words, the rest of the group sprang into coordinated action. Markus lunged in from the side, ice seeping from his fingertips, creeping along Willow’s ankles to freeze him in place. He also used Compass to warp the angle of Willow’s thrusts whenever possible, forcing even the Sentinel to compensate mid-strike.
Mars conjured heavy spears laced with chains, each forged from the souls of monsters, to try pinning Willow’s limbs. Whenever one shattered, he created another, unafraid to push the limit of his ability if it meant containing the Sentinel.
Lyra channeled arcs of lightning, careful to avoid friendly fire as she aimed them skyward and then down, thunderbolts crashing at Willow’s flank. The bright flashes lit up the clearing, momentarily distracting Willow from Isaac’s shadow-laden assaults.
June knelt beside any ally struck by Famine’s curses, wings unfurling to send waves of phoenix flame over them. She kept an anxious eye on Isaac as well, painfully aware of his escalating curse, but following his directive to focus on others.
At the edges of the battle, Karma surveyed it all, eyes half-lidded in concentration. A small, low-class flame spirit flickered at his feet, transmitting Isaac’s next coded instructions via morse code using subtle pulses of heat. He silently gathered power into his Stockpile, letting the course of the fight dictate where he would unleash it next.
Under the flickering canopy of forest light, the clash intensified. Willow deftly knocked aside several of Mars’s chained spears, ignoring the lances of ice snapping around his ankles. Whenever he saw an opening, he lunged for the kill, only for Lyra’s lightning or Isaac’s fiery onslaught to drive him back. Famine’s invisible aura still lingered, conjuring glimpses of black sludge, and as Willow spun his spear, the clearing filled with sickening darkness and scorched ozone.
Isaac’s body trembled with every breath he took, the curse pressing in on his heart, but the defiance in his eyes never waned. His wings flickered with purple flame, each ragged beat pushing him to keep pace with the unstoppable Sentinel. They were running on borrowed time—everyone knew it—but for now, the synergy they’d forged was just enough to keep Willow from overwhelming them completely. And in that synergy, perhaps, lay their only chance of survival.
“This is so much fun—you’ll all make wonderful students,” Willow said, voice crackling with excitement as he leveled his gaze on the embattled group. “What a fascinating year this will be. Oh, and do be kind to my daughter when you meet her. She’ll be attending as well.”
A half-rotten apple, dripping with that vile black sludge, plopped from the skull of Willow’s spear and splashed to the ground, fizzing. He crushed it underfoot, releasing a rancid stench that churned everyone’s stomachs. “No need to hold back now,” Willow murmured, stepping out of the dissipating slime. His burned armor still clung to him, and yet his poise suggested boundless stamina, as though he drew confidence from each savage exchange.
Mars, still breathing heavily from earlier wounds, steeled himself and lunged. Channeling his Masterchef ability, he converted three more souls into a brutal tri-headed flail. Sparks flared in his eyes as he whirled the flail in a dizzying arc, roaring as he brought it down in a thunderous strike aimed at Willow’s torso. For a split second, it appeared Willow would finally be overwhelmed—his position seemed compromised, off-balance, with Conquest’s dissonant instruments distracting him.
But that fleeting advantage vanished in an instant. Willow pivoted on his heel, driving his spear upward to clash with the flail’s spiked heads. The clash sent tremors through the forest floor. In the same fluid motion, Willow jerked the spear downward, and a fresh wave of Famine’s decaying curse flooded Mars’s veins. Gasping in pain, Mars stumbled—just enough to expose an opening.
“Poor timing,” Willow said, almost regretfully, his crimson-tipped spear thrusting like a blurred afterimage. With lethal accuracy, he pierced through Mars’s chest. The curse smoldered in the wound, black lines of necrotic energy erupting across his flesh.
Mars let out a strangled cry, the shock of the strike robbing him of speech. Before he could collapse, he vanished in a soft burst of teleportation magic—violently ejected from the exam. His tri-headed flail clattered to the ground, dissolving into sparks of stolen souls and black smoke. The shattered trees rustled in the ensuing hush.
The remaining fighters froze, dread settling like a shroud. Willow retracted his spear with a lazy twirl, unspoken triumph dancing behind his half-lidded eyes. “That makes three,” he noted, voice faintly tinged with satisfaction. “Who’s next?”
Suddenly, a rain of obsidian arrows streaked down from above, each projectile radiating a dark, pulsing energy that sizzled against Willow’s armor. The Sentinel scowled, momentarily forced on the defensive. High in the canopy, three figures perched on a broad tree branch, like predatory birds surveying their prey.
The first figure—lean and poised, armed with a sleek bow—raised his head in challenge. It was Shadar, flanked by Charlotte and his attendant Alice. Moonlight, or something similar to it, radiated off Shadar’s bow, highlighting the confident smirk on his face.
“So you’re the famed Sentinel I’ve heard so much about,” Shadar called out, voice laced with anticipation. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”
From below, Isaac’s pained shout echoed through the clearing. “Don’t speak! Conquest absorbs speech to strengthen Willow!”
Shadar paused briefly, brows knitting in curiosity. “A curious ability…” he murmured, then lifted his bow. “I’ll just obliterate it. Trump Card—Black Sorrow!”
He fired a single, dark arrow straight into the sky. Mid-flight, the projectile burst apart, dissolving into a swarm of leathery, violet-tinged bats that fanned across the battlefield. Their collective wings beat in a frenzied flurry, coating the entire exam site in a false night. The oppressive darkness rippled with countless pinpricks of purple stars, illuminating the clearing in an eerie, cosmic glow. Within this star-laden gloom, Willow felt his Cloak of Twilight stutter and weaken, the introduced darkness interfering with his own.
“How annoying,” Willow muttered, casting a wary glance upward. “I’ll remove you first.”
Before he could move, a violet arrow shot down like a falling star, tearing through the veil of night and piercing Willow’s leg with uncanny speed. His reflexes, formidable as they were, couldn’t keep up with the arrow’s precipitous descent. A hiss of pain escaped him as black blood oozed from the wound.
Shadar lowered his bow, the corners of his mouth curling in cold satisfaction. “Forgive me, but it’s a king’s duty to watch over his subjects,” he said, voice laced with regal disdain. “You’d do well not to delude yourself into thinking we stand on equal ground, Sentinel. Alice, Charlotte—join the battle.”
“Yes, my lord,” Alice answered crisply, while Charlotte merely nodded once. Both vaulted down from the branch, landing gracefully on the forest floor.
“I can see that infernal creation with the instruments,” Shadar said, his gaze fixed on Conquest. “Each time it dares to absorb sound, I’ll fire another arrow and send it back to whatever hell it crawled from. Don’t even try it.”
In the flickering purple starlight, Isaac felt a surge of gratitude push through the burning pain of Famine’s curse. He managed a grin—small, yet genuine. “This is perfect… Thank you,” he called, forgetting for a moment his own agonies.
Shadar’s bats wheeled overhead, their eerie keening blending with the hum of spectral insects. The Sentinel, pinned by the arrow, grimaced as he tugged at the projectile lodged in his leg. All the while, the newly arrived trio stood poised, ready to exploit the fragile advantage they’d created.
A sense of hope flickered through the battered ranks of Isaac’s allies. They were still wounded, still exhausted—but with Shadar’s reinforcements and the veil of Black Sorrow muting Willow’s might, the fight suddenly felt less impossible. The stage was set for the next decisive clash, a swirl of curses, conjurations, and cosmic darkness that promised no easy end for either side.
“Alice,” Shadar said, his voice a calm yet commanding murmur, “you must not be eliminated—no matter the cost.”
“Yes, my lord,” she replied softly, unsheathing a katana that seemed to drink in the ambient light. A thin veil of shadow-like energy oozed along the blade’s edge, giving it a haunting, almost ethereal glow.
Willow let out a low chuckle, glancing at the katana with growing curiosity. “So that’s where so many students were hiding—within your shadow. By my estimate, you’re carrying a solid ten percent of them, aren’t you?”
Alice’s gaze remained cool, her tone flat. “My lord has given me two instructions: survive, and eliminate you. If you simply surrender now, it would make my job far more convenient.”
A derisive smile tugged at Willow’s lips. “I’m afraid that won’t work for me. There’s a handsome bonus for taking out every student.”
“Then it is a pity.” Alice shifted her stance, the katana’s dark aura intensifying. She raised the blade and lunged, the weapon slicing a silent arc through the night air. Despite her stoic manner, Isaac sensed an odd resonance with the sword—a faint pull in his gut that he couldn’t explain, as though something in its shadowy energy answered to his own.
Seizing this moment, the rest of Isaac’s team closed in, following the tactics Isaac had laid out. Lyra and June held back, focusing on cleansing and coverage, while Markus and Karma probed Willow’s defenses for openings. Kenji was gone; Mars was gone—but they still had numbers. Every slash, every summoned demon, every bolt of lightning—each blow was carefully orchestrated to grind down Willow’s stamina, or at least prevent him from retaliating too severely.
Meanwhile, up in the canopy, Charlotte unfurled her feathery wings, drifting upward until she perched beside Shadar on a thick branch. They observed the battle from there—night air swirling around them, punctuated by the sizzling sparks of magic in the clearing below.
“Shadar,” Charlotte murmured with a hint of exasperation, “my ability will only disrupt your spell if I use it now. There’s little else I can contribute.”
Shadar sighed, resting one hand on the bow he’d used to cast Black Sorrow. “I didn’t factor that in,” he admitted, gaze never leaving the swirling melee. “Then hang back for now. Stay close to me—we’ll strike the next blow when we see a clear opening.”
Nodding, Charlotte settled on the branch, her wings quivering faintly. Below, Alice dashed around Willow, the katana in her hands arcing with silent precision. Each time it clashed with Willow’s spear, a low thrumming echoed across the darkened field, and Isaac couldn’t shake the subtle, magnetic pull he felt toward that sword’s shadow-laced power.
But any moment’s distraction could be lethal. Even cornered, Willow exuded an aura of lethal unpredictability, shifting with barely visible slashes, summoning more of Famine’s curses, or twisting the battlefield to his advantage. Yet the reinforcements, Shadar, Alice, and Charlotte, brought a renewed sense of morale. Their arrival granted Isaac and his allies a renewed foothold in the war of attrition against the seemingly unstoppable Sentinel.